


Vodka Under the Bridge

by SomewhatByronically



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, alfrid being a named character is just as bad as you think it is, and being great wingpeople, and yes, but elrond galadriel and celeborn are bro-ing around with thranduil, no one else gets named, they're too busy making out in the bathroom to pay attention to Bard, this fic may have been inspired by my little gay heart thinking of galadriel in a short tight dress, thorin and bilbo get named but you really dont see any of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3423473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhatByronically/pseuds/SomewhatByronically
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In another world, Bard and Thranduil meet in a club.</p>
<p>"water under the bridge" - used to refer to events or situations that are in the past and consequently no longer to be regarded as important or as a source of concern</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vodka Under the Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> This gorgeous piece of trash was inspired by one of [these prompts](http://sawneesnowstar.tumblr.com/post/101480738789).
> 
> ~~~Enjoy~~~

Bard hadn’t even wanted to come.  He wasn’t particularly close with his workmates, so when Bilbo and Thorin invited him out, he agreed mostly out of desperation.  And now…  Well…  regret wasn’t necessarily too strong a word for what he was feeling.

Bard was standing next to the bar on the balcony that overlooked the dance floor at this club.  He sipped at the shit vodka that he had paid far too much for and he cringed at the unfamiliar burn as it crawled down his throat.  Though he could’ve just as easily cringed at the man--Alfrid: he had forced his name upon Bard the second or third time he approached him--who was imminently about to make another pass at Bard.

“I already told you Alfrid.  Not interested.”  Bard tried to look anywhere but the greasy mop of hair and light blue shirt ensemble with so many stains that Bard could go his entire life without knowing the source of.

“Oh c’mon.  You’re being a buzzkill.” Bard felt Alfrid’s eyes crawling over his skin like bugs as Alfrid exaggeratedly looked up and down Bard’s form again.  Bard had lost count of how many times he had been blessed with Alfrid's gaze. Alfrid tried to arrange himself in Bard’s view and added, “Stop playing hard to get pretty boy.”  

Bard fixated on a light fixture in the rafters before huffing and replying pointedly, “No, I’m just not interested.”

“I’m sure,” Alfrid said patronizingly, “Now you want to get out of here?”

Bard turned around completely and refused to dignify Alfrid’s question with an answer.  His eyes began to scan the crowd as he ignored Alfrid retreating.  Bard spied the only good thing that had come out of this evening.  On the opposite side of the dance floor, there was a group of people who looked far more at home in this club than Bard did.  They were all incredibly tall, three blondes and a brunette.  The frankly stunning woman had impossibly long golden hair and was accompanied by a man who looked as uncomfortable as Bard half the time.  The other half, he seemed to be rather fond of glaring daggers at anyone who even looked sideways at the woman.  The brunette was in an outfit far too coordinated for this affair.  All dark reds and golds and greens; the color matching wasted in the dim lights.  

The final member of this party was the redeemer of Bard’s evening.  Long silvery white hair that fell loose down his back and legs that went on for miles wrapped in tight black leather pants.  His dark red shirt had some sort of pattern, but unfortunately Bard had yet to be close enough to make it out.  

They had been trading glances all evening, a few of sympathy when the tall stranger had spotted Alfrid harassing Bard, but Bard hadn’t the courage to instigate and it seemed that the stranger hadn’t either.  A few times Bard had seen him dancing, and he quickly found out that this stranger wasn’t just pretty but also incredibly…   _talented_.

Bard placed his empty glass on the bar counter and looked up at the stranger again.  He was back on the dance floor and somehow the roll of  his hips managed to be barely suggestive and positively obscene all at the same time.  He noticed Bard staring, he gestured in a come-hither sort of fashion, and gave Bard a pointed look.  One that was just screaming, “Come dance with me.”  And, finally, there was no way that Bard could resist that invitation.

Bard walked down the short flight of stairs that separated the dance floor from the bar and seating area.  He began pushing through the crowd toward where he had spotted the mysterious stranger but luck was not on his side today.  As soon as he was firmly entrenched in the crowd with no quick method of escape, Alfrid popped out of the woodwork as a hand on Bard’s arm.

“You want to dance!?!” Alfrid screams as to be heard over the music.

Bard turns around, muttering obscenities to himself and shaking his arm in an earnest but useless attempt to dislodge Alfrid.

“Go away!” Bard shouts equally as loudly, in the dim hope that Alfrid would let go and leave him alone.

Alfrid is surprisingly strong and he manages to throw Bard off balance as Bard tries put distance between them.  Alfrid makes Bard's struggling look as if they’re dancing together and in the throng of bodies, Bard’s distress isn’t terribly clear.  Bard eventually wrenches his arm free and is about ready to start a proper fight, right there on the dancefloor, but he is suddenly distracted by a vision in a well-fitted short white dress.  He pauses before he recognizes the golden-blonde hair and he only has a moment before it’s her hand gently grasping his upper arm and pulling him in.

She moves her mouth to his ear so that he can hear her over the music without shouting and she says quickly, “Just go along with it.”

“Along with what?” Bard shouts as he turns after her.  But she has already moved about five feet away, blocking out Alfrid and dragging her partner along with her.

Bard doesn’t get an answer, well, not a verbal one anyway, because as soon as he turns back to look to where she came from in the crowd, he has a mouthful of the blonde stranger he’s been eyeing all night and he's too dumbfounded to do anything.  

His hands hang uselessly in the air as he feels strange but pleasant ones fisting in the material of his button-up.  They pull his body flush with the one that he had been admiring all evening.  Soft plush lips are pressing urgently against his own as if this kiss is giving the stranger life.  It is over all too soon and the stranger’s mouth drifts towards his ear.

“I’d think I was kissing a coma patient.”

Bard notices now that the shirt has little white stag heads embroidered at regular intervals.  He looks up at the stranger’s face, grinning impossibly wide, and finds his hands settling on the hips of this gorgeous man.  The stranger seems incredibly pleased with this choice.

“Thranduil.  You want to get out of here?”  Thranduil says, by way of introduction.

“Bard,” he responds before quickly before adding in relief, “And yes please.”

If Alfrid glares at Bard the entire time he and Thranduil make their way out of the club, that's vodka under the bridge.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really liked this piece even though it took me ages to finish.
> 
> Thank you to my lovely betas: [breathingbarduil](http://breathingbarduil.tumblr.com), [starlightelvenking](http://starlightelvenking.tumblr.com), and [thrandueils](http://thrandueils.tumblr.com).
> 
> Hit me up on [my tumblr](http://somewhatbyronically.tumblr.com).
> 
> Ada


End file.
